Making a point
by jackdawsinflight
Summary: A Lewis (pre-season 7) story, with a slight crossover in the form of Silent Witness character, Sam Ryan. Lewis and Hathaway are called to investigate the murder of a young solicitor whilst the pathology department welcomes a visiting professor on secondment, giving rise to both professional and personal challenges for all.
1. Chapter 1

Lewis had just settled in front of the television to enjoy the Saturday afternoon rugby; he'd felt the gratifying hiss of the can of lager he'd just opened and was raising it eagerly to his lips, when his mobile rang.

"Hathaway?" He sighed despondently into the speaker. He knew what was coming.

"Sir, a body's been found at Wainwrights solicitors. I'm on my way to pick you up. Be there in 10 minutes."

"Right you are." Lewis murmured, the smell of the now forbidden lager teasing his nostrils as he spoke.

In a swift, well-rehearsed routine, Lewis packed away the sad semblance of a personal life from his coffee table, consisting of a four-pack of lager, some cheap crisps and the remote control, turned off the telly and headed to his room to change into his suit.

Soon the doorbell had rung and Hathaway was lolling transiently on the sofa, waiting whilst Lewis fastened his tie and located some shoes.

"Honestly, man," Lewis grumbled to his sergeant. "Don't people have better things to do than go getting themselves killed on a major rugby weekend?" Lewis knew he shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but he had really been looking forward to that game.

"I take it that's a rhetorical question, Sir, so I shan't reply." Hathaway declared, his heart sinking: Lewis' mood did not bode well for yet another working weekend.

"Hmph." Lewis grunted and headed towards the door.


	2. Chapter 2

"Dr Hobson!" Lewis barked, stomping towards Laura, who was in her customary position: hunched over a mangled corpse. She looked up momentarily, registering the thunderous expression on Lewis' face, before muttering "yikes" to herself and returning her attention to the corpse.

"Laura," Lewis repeated, "what've we got?"

"What's got you would perhaps be a more appropriate question." Laura quipped, without looking up.

"Ha ha. Very funny." Lewis sneered, before Hathaway interjected:

"He's missing the rugby, doctor." He looked sideways at the inspector. "_Not_ a laughing matter."

"Oh, I see." Laura said with mock concern, failing to suppress a smirk.

"All right, you two." Robbie warned. "I could do without the double act today. Just tell me what we've got, Laura."

Laura shot a final sideways glance at Hathaway before adopting an immediately professional tone: "We've got a white female, early thirties, I'd say. In a pretty bad way. She didn't fall down the stairs, if that's what you're thinking." Laura paused to gesture upwards to the spiral fire escape staircase above her. "Body's not positioned right for a fall. And besides, she's been bludgeoned around the head, chest and face with a sharp, pointed object, which could make identification difficult." Lewis shifted position towards the corpse's upper body.

"Christ, she's a mess." His face scrunched for a millisecond with revulsion.

"Mmm. Poor girl." Laura agreed. "She's also got defence wounds to her hands and lower arms." She gently lifted the lifeless limbs to demonstrate. "SOCA are inside the offices," again she gestured back up the fire escape. "There seems to be some evidence of a clean up in the kitchen area, so they are focusing there at present."

"Time of death?"

"Can't be more exact than between 10 pm last night and 3 this morning at this stage, I'm afraid."

"Uh huh. Any ideas on the murder weapon?" Lewis questioned, almost simultaneously as Hathaway remarked:

"She's missing a shoe."

Laura smiled, eyes shining. "Got it in one, boys. Very good."

"What?" Lewis scoffed, almost with disbelief. "She was killed with a shoe?"

"Lethal weapons these, Robbie." Laura nodded, carefully removing the victim's remaining expensive-looking four-inch stiletto, and indicating how it matched the puncture wounds in the victim's flesh perfectly.

"Lethal only to bank balances, I'd thought." Robbie, almost smiled, clearly emerging from his earlier grump. Laura smiled back at him, but her face soon dropped.

"Seriously, though. What a way to go: beaten to death by a Louboutin you'd worked for hours to afford."

"Hardly!" Scoffed Hathaway. "These lawyers'll fleece you. She probably has hundreds of pairs at home."

"Had." Lewis corrected. "Anyway, whatever your opinion of the legal profession, I'm sure the poor lass didn't deserve this." He glanced around the car park, towards the residential flats above. "Any witnesses?" He quizzed Hathaway.

"Not as yet, sir. Uniform have commenced door-to-door. And the senior partner of Wainwrights is inside, waiting to speak to us."

"OK, let's go." Lewis took a final, almost regretful look at the corpse. "Thanks, Laura."

He and Hathaway were making their way back across the carpark, when Laura called his name.

"Robbie?" he turned. "Have you got a second?"

He waited as she jogged towards him, removing her gloves. Hathaway, with his usual discretion, headed onwards into the building.

Laura approached and spoke with the usual hushed tone she reserved for personal matters with Robbie: "About that drink tonight…"

"I know, I know." He rolled his eyes with genuine disappointment. "We'll have to do it another time."

She nodded, her own frustration evident in the shrug of her shoulders.

"Tomorrow?" He suggested and her face lit up momentarily before she remembered something:

"I can't do tomorrow, I'm sorry. We've got this Professor coming up from London on secondment for a month."

"And you've got to chaperone him on your weekend off?" Robbie was incredulous. First his weekend was ruined, now hers.

"Sort of. I've just got to make sure she's settled in. It's a 'she' in any case – they let even let women be professors nowadays." She teased him.

Robbie laughed, his mood lightened. "Oh aye? Well, maybe we can go for that drink some other time." He held her gaze for a fraction of a second longer than normal, before turning to head indoors. Laura sighed, returning to the body to pack up her things.

"So close and yet so far." She grumbled to no one in particular. "Just one never-ending example of really bad timing, that's Robbie and me." She paused to make a final check over the corpse. "Still," she addressed the body this time, "I expect you'd say your timing was worse." She shook her head. "Such a waste."


	3. Chapter 3

Laura flicked absently through the newspapers that had been fanned neatly over the marble coffee table in the lobby of the Randolph hotel. She was awaiting Professor Ryan, a world-renowned pathologist, who was visiting from London. She hadn't mentioned it to Robbie, but Professor Ryan would be forming part of a peer review programme for Laura's department. Needless to say, Laura was not exactly relishing the prospect of a stranger poking around in her work and telling her how she could improve her practice.

Laura had heard much about Professor Ryan: she was indisputably brilliant in her work and somewhat of a celebrity amongst the profession. Laura knew she should be grateful for the opportunity to work alongside and learn from such a trailblazer, yet deep down it rankled. Laura was proud of her own work and methods and she was loath to see some know-it-all sticking her nose in. However, she also knew she had the strength of character to endure a month of the Professor's company. At least she and Robbie could have a good laugh about it down the pub.

"Dr Hobson?" A cool, northern Irish drifted over her and Laura flushed a little, glad the professor did not count mind reading as one of her many talents.

"Yes. Dr Ryan! A pleasure to meet you at last." Laura rose and shook Professor Ryan's hand warmly. Ryan was just as she had imagined: slim, neat and elegant, with a firm handshake. She was dressed somewhat formally for a Sunday, in a charcoal crepe trouser suit. Laura felt momentarily self-conscious in her leather jacket and jeans, but soon shrugged it off. It was the weekend after all. "How was your journey? And your hotel room, is it OK?" She asked, cheerfully.

"Both fine, thank you." Ryan smiled, the expression slightly taking the edge off her otherwise piercing gaze.

"So… I thought I could show you around Oxford?" Laura ventured, gesturing towards the hotel doors.

"That would be great. Thank you, Doctor Hobson."

"Call me Laura!" Laura hoped this might break the ice a little.

"OK." Agreed Ryan, without reciprocating. She turned towards the hotel door.

Laura smiled to herself. The next few weeks were clearly going to be interesting.


	4. Chapter 4

Having fully recovered from his weekend temper, Robbie sauntered into the pathology department, whistling and clutching two polystyrene cups of steaming hot coffee.

He located Laura and tapped against the glass of the lab, gesturing for her to join him outside in the corridor. He noticed her look around slightly shiftily before slipping from her chair and out of the lab.

"Mornin'" He chirped, registering how pleased she looked to see him, and smiling back at her: the feeling was mutual.

"Hi Robbie." Her smile faded slightly as she took the coffee he handed to her and glanced around surreptitiously before taking a sip, attempting to shield herself from view. "Thank you." She murmured.

"You ok?" Robbie laughed. "You look like a suspect under surveillance."

"Yeah, fine. It's just…" Laura was cut off as the corridor doors swung open and a woman began walking purposefully towards them. Robbie did not recognise her.

"Damn." Laura muttered under her breath, trying in vain to conceal the coffee.

Robbie smiled with confused amusement. Laura was behaving so oddly. The woman approached them, fixing Robbie with a steely, but not altogether unpleasant stare, before looking expectantly at Laura. Laura recovered herself and introduced them:

"Rob… I mean, Detective Inspector Lewis, this is Professor Ryan, who is, as I am sure you are aware, an eminent forensic psychologist based in London. Fortunately, for us, she will be working here in Oxford for the next month on secondment. Professor Ryan, this is DI Lewis, who is overseeing the Constantine investigation."

"Hello." Ryan greeted Robbie with a tone that was cool and distant, but accompanied by startling eye contact.

"Pleasure to meet you, Professor." Robbie shook her hand with what Laura perceived to be more warmth than he would usually afford to 'big wigs', as he called them.

Ryan turned her gaze to Laura. "Dr Hobson, when you have finished your little coffee break, I would like a word, please."

"Er… yes, of course." Mumbled Laura, as Ryan disappeared into the lab.

Robbie looked at Laura questioningly, trying to suppress a smile. Laura sighed and rolled her eyes.

"So, what's she doing here?" He asked.

"Bloody peer review programme – she's come to advise on how our department can be improved." Laura hissed, her voice barely a whisper. "I mean, I'm all for continuing professional development, Robbie, but she is driving me mad already!"

Robbie chuckled. "You better get back in there, eh? Don't want her deducting time off your lunch break, do you?"

Laura faked a scowl at him before smiling resignedly. "Thanks for the coffee, Robbie. Give me five minutes to sort the Constantine stuff, then you can come in to see the body."


	5. Chapter 5

"So you can see the mark on her neck here, where her necklace has been ripped off." Laura's tone was clipped and formal, owing to the intrusive presence of Professor Ryan hovering nearby, watching what Laura felt was her every move.

"How do you know it was her necklace?" Lewis was oblivious to Ryan, being more interested in the young solicitor's corpse.

"We found it in stuffed down her throat, together with her earrings which had been ripped from her earlobes." Laura produced a transparent evidence bag containing a bloodied silver chain, pendant and earrings.

"Hmm. Odd thing to do." Robbie mused, studying the contents of the bag.

Laura shrugged. "Not if you've got a serious grudge, I suppose."

"They're Tiffany." Ryan interjected, gesturing towards the pieces of jewellery. Of course, she would know that, thought Laura.

Robbie looked at Ryan non-plussed.

"As in the world famous jewellers?" Ryan added, doing her best to mask the condescension in her voice. "They're from the new diamond range – it's all the rage in London."

"Oh right." Lewis shot a conspiratorial glance at Laura.

"What with the Louboutin shoes, the Armani suit and the Tiffany jewellery, I'd say Miss Constantine was doing fairly well for herself, given her level of seniority… or lack thereof." Ryan elaborated upon her point. The corpse had been identified as Sofia Constantine, 24-year-old newly qualified solicitor at Wainwrights solicitors. She had been working at the firm for just over two years.

"Hmm." Lewis nodded, thoughtfully.

"What do we know about her?" Ryan beat Laura to the same question.

"Well, not a lot at this stage." Lewis admitted. "Seems she was a bit of a loner. No personal life to speak of. No boyfriend. No friends who have come forward following her death. Her family is sparse. We've spoken to her mother and father, who are devastated, naturally. No siblings. Middle class background - not a particularly wealthy family, I'd say. She excelled at Oxford, Wolvern College: was made a scholar in her first year, won a raft of prizes and got a double first in finals. The usual Oxbridge 'success' story." Robbie emphasized the word 'success' with a generous helping of sarcasm.

Ryan, herself a Cambridge graduate, ignored the Oxbridge dig entirely:

"If she's not long out of law school, I'm not sure how she could afford quite such an expensive wardrobe." She mused, having by now completely muscled in on Laura's consultation with Lewis. "Given the likely murder weapon of a stiletto shoe - have we found that yet? - and what was done with her jewellery, I'd say it might be worth looking into where they came from."

"Good idea, Professor." Lewis agreed. "Hathaway's already onto her bank and credit card statements, I'll ask him to check it out. No sign of the murder weapon yet. We're still looking."

Ryan nodded.

"Anything else, Laura?" Lewis sensed the tension between the two women and was keen to re-establish Laura as the leader of the discussion.

"No. Nothing more." Laura said quietly.

"Right, in that case I'll head back to my office." Lewis made a point of thanking Laura first: "Thank you, Laura… and Professor Ryan."

"Inspector," Ryan interjected. "I'm due to be meeting Chief Superintendent Innocent in 15 minutes. Would you be so kind as to direct me to her office?"

"Of course." Lewis smiled. "And I'm not one for airs and graces, Professor. Most people round here call me Lewis."

Ryan returned the smile as he led her towards the door. "That must make me 'Ryan' then, Lewis?"

Lewis laughed. "Whatever you say, Ryan."


	6. Chapter 6

"So… what brings you here from London?" Lewis attempted polite chit-chat as he led Ryan down the mess of dingy, cluttered corridors of the less salubrious areas of the police station, towards his department and Innocent's office.

"Oh, a peer review programme." Ryan's tone had become gentler since leaving the lab; less formal. "It's aimed at achieving a more consistent approach to forensic pathology across the Thames Valley."

"Sounds good." Said Lewis, without conviction.

Ryan laughed and, as she did so, her face lit up. "Well, obviously Dr Hobson and her team think I'm the devil incarnate, but it is actually meant to be a positive thing."

Lewis smiled. "Ahh, give over. Laura's all right. She just has her own way of doing things. Like most of us, really. She's bloody good, though."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that, Lewis. She has an excellent reputation, by all accounts. In fact, whilst this peer review scheme is all very well and good, I do have a major ulterior motive - I'm actually on the look out for some new additions to my team in London. Hobson is likely to be a prime target."

"Hey! Hands off! We need her here." Lewis objected, jovially.

Ryan fixed Lewis with her penetrative gaze, clearly pondering something. The split second of silence allowed Lewis to notice how striking she was: all clean lines and smooth, simple beauty.

She smiled again, enigmatically, and Lewis was surprised to find himself wondering what she was thinking.

"Chief Super Intendant Innocent's office is just along that corridor," he recovered and gestured in front of him. "First door on the right."

"Thanks, Lewis."

"No problem. Any time." He turned in the direction of his office, pausing at the water cooler with slight bemusement, his eyes drifting back towards the now closed door of Innocent's office.

"You wanna watch yourself, guv." One of his less tactful colleagues, Curtis, called from the adjoining office.

"Oh aye?" Robbie scoffed, quickly burying the small twinge of embarrassment he felt at having been observed in this slightly wistful interlude.

"Yeah." Curtis, always one for a gossip and especially if this could be done at the expense of report writing, joined him at the cooler. "That was what's-'er-name Ryan, wasn't it?"

Robbie nodded hesitantly and Curtis continued. "I thought it was! My mate's a detective with the Cambridge force and word on the street it that old Ryan likes a nice bit of detective, if you know what I mean?" Curtis elaborated by wiggling his eyebrows and whistling twice, just to be sure Lewis had understood his point.

"Really?" Lewis rolled his eyes, feigning disinterest, and moved to head back to his office.

Undeterred, Curtis continued, "Yeah, the story goes that she left Cambridge because fings with one of 'em went a bit sour." He shook his head in a bizarre sign of mock regret, before his eyes lit up again. "You wanna watch out, Sir: apparently DI's are her favourite. Likes a man in control, you see."

"All right, Curtis. That's enough." Lewis said firmly, but with a slightly sardonic smile, before retreating down the corridor.

"Shame really." Curtis continued, talking rather to himself than to Lewis. "Bit of hot stuff like that, I wouldn't have minded having a go meself." He made a lewd gesture for the benefit of the water cooler only.

Startled, Curtis suddenly noticed Hathaway who had been collecting a document from the printer and had overheard the entire exchange. "Allright, 'Athaway?" He managed, flushing red.

"Very well, thank you, Curtis." Hathaway drawled, facetiously. "Always reassuring to see you have yet to graduate from the Naked Gun School of Policing."

"Funny guy." Curtis mumbled, deflated, deciding now would be a good time to return to his paperwork.

Hathaway smirked to himself before heading in the direction of the office he shared with Lewis. From the sounds of things this Professor Ryan might have potential to cause a bit of a stir. Most interesting. Suddenly Hathaway's deathly boring day of trawling through bank statements was looking up.

* * *

**Author's note**: sorry, is this really dull and long-winded? I just keep imagining little scenes and writing them. I'm not really sure where it's coming from, other than a deep-seated and chronic love of Lewis. It's keeping me entertained, but I don't want to bore you to tears!


	7. Chapter 7

"Any news on those bank statements, James?" Lewis barely looked up as Hathaway flopped down into his chair, feet up on the table, flicking idly through the documents he had retrieved from the printer.

"Well, not really, Sir – but I suppose that's news in itself. I've seen nothing so far in Constantine's finances evidencing the expensive lifestyle."

"So how'd she afford all that Tiffany jewellery and Looby-what's-it shoes?"

"Louboutin," Hathaway corrected, with perfect French pronunciation.

"Hmph." Lewis grunted, rummaging around on his desk.

"Perhaps we are dealing with un papa-gâteau, Sir?"

"Pardon?" Lewis grimaced. "Oh, for God's sake, Hathaway, spare me the Brigitte Bardot routine."

"Sorry, Sir." Hathaway coughed to disguise a self-satisfied chortle. "I meant, perhaps she has a sugar daddy? The senior partner seemed particularly devastated by her loss…"

"Follow it up, then. Ask him if he knows where she got the jewellery, because by the looks of her payslips, he sure as hell wasn't paying her enough for that kind of lifestyle. Now where have I put my bloody phone?"

At that moment, Innocent prowled in, casting a withering look at Hathaway, who sheepishly removed his feet from his desk, before turning to Lewis, who was still engrossed in the search for his phone.

"Lost something, Lewis?" She enquired, raising her eyebrows in an expression which lingered somewhere between indifference and condescension.

"Just temporarily mislaid me phone, Ma'am."

"Oh. Well, I hope you find it." She said with a tone of voice that communicated the exact opposite of what she was saying.

"Anyway," Innocent continued. "I wondered if you would do me a big favour. I can't make that charity ball thing on Friday, but we need a force presence, to show our support and all that nonsense. Blah blah. I've got two tickets…" Hathaway slid further down in his chair in the hope that this might make him a less obvious candidate.

"Thought you could take Professor Ryan. She's a visiting…"

"Yes, I know who she is." Lewis muttered almost tetchily.

"Oh come on, Lewis. It won't be that bad." Innocent scoffed. "Sam's a friend of a friend and she's bored solid sitting in her suite in the Randolph every night. Besides, the ball's at Wolvern College – wasn't that where the murder victim went? You could do a bit of digging whilst you're there…"

"Hmm." Lewis sneered sarcastically. "And make it a **_really_** fun evening?"

Innocent shrugged, indicating that Lewis did not have a choice in the matter and that the conversation was over. She skulked off in the direction she had come.

"Damn!" Muttered Lewis when she was out of earshot.

"What's the matter, Sir?" Hathaway fought hard to hide his evident glee in the situation by typing noisily on his keyboard and clenching his teeth.

"Laura had bought us tickets for that." Lewis explained, dejectedly. "Ah here's my bloody phone," he extricated it from the annoyingly obvious location of his jacket pocket. "Better ring her to explain."

Hathaway's expression suddenly changed. Whilst he found the thought of Ryan setting the cat among the pigeons for his boss fairly entertaining, he did not want it to be at Hobson's expense. He hadn't realised things were "on" again between the doctor and Lewis, though, to be fair, who knew exactly what that meant in any case. With a begrudging sense of duty, and an expression akin to having swallowed a wasp, he spoke:

"Can I make a suggestion, Sir?" He said, almost in spite of himself.

Lewis looked at him hopefully, mobile poised in his hand.

"Why don't I come along as your wingman and we can tell Hobson that Ryan is my guest?"

"James, you are a hero."

"Hmm." Hathaway was doubtful. "On one condition?"

"Yeah?"

"Free bar all night."

Lewis nodded, a fair cop. "You're on."


	8. Chapter 8

Laura tugged at her hair in front of the mirror in her hallway. It wouldn't sit right. Absent-mindedly, she contemplated whether Ryan would ever have such a problem. Somehow she doubted it.

Laura was fully dressed in anticipation of that evening's charity ball and was awaiting her taxi. Despite her better judgement, she had to admit that she wasn't looking forward to the ball quite so much now that she and Robbie would have company. Of course, she didn't mind Hathaway coming: he could be fairly entertaining and would probably drink himself under the table, but why did Ryan have to wheedle her way in? Admittedly, things had become less frosty between the two women over the course of the week, but for some reason Laura still found it hard to relax around her.

Laura was pondering possible schemes to secure some alone time with Robbie, mostly centring upon some sort of bribery of Hathaway, when her pager went.

"Oh, you are having a LAUGH!" She exclaimed incredulously at the little black device. Someone had called in sick and there had been a suspicious-looking suicide out in Abingdon.

With a monumental sigh, she took a last glimpse of herself in the mirror, regretfully admiring her sage green gown, gathered at the waist in a spray of pearl beading, with the skirt dropping, in a long length of crepe chiffon, to the floor.

"Bloody typical." She murmured, firing off a text to let Robbie know of the change in her plans.

Across town, Ryan was engaged in her own disgruntled mirror routine, cursing the lack of decent lighting in the hotel bathroom and vaguely wondering whether this would entail her applying makeup worthy of a drag artist.

She was grateful to Jean for having made an effort to relieve her boredom, but she hardly envisaged the evening being the epitome of what she would call a good time. Lewis seemed amiable enough, but a bit of a bumbler. Still, it was better than sitting staring at the walls of her hotel suite all night.

With a sigh, she abandoned all attempts to modify her makeup. She took a last look at herself in the mirror – at least the dress she had bought earlier today looked acceptable: a sophisticated combination of dark, smoky-blue satin and lace.

"Here goes nothing." She murmured to her reflection before slipping down to the hotel lobby and out onto a balmy, still-light Beaumont Street.

Lewis and, she assumed, Hathaway were waiting for her at the gates of Wolvern College, which had been decked in a gentle smattering of fairy lights for the occasion.

Lewis surprised her with his old-school chivalry, introducing her warmly to his sergeant before proffering his arm to lead her through the college doors.

"Aren't we waiting for Doctor Hobson?" Ryan asked, keen not to neglect her colleague.

"Nah, she got a better offer." Smiled Lewis.

"Oh?"

He laughed. "Not really. The poor thing got called out to a suspicious suicide over in Abingdon. Said she might try to join us later, though."

"In the meantime, Professor Ryan," Hathaway cut in, "Let us introduce you to the magnificence of the Wolvern College bar."

Two hours later, Ryan found herself having an immensely good time. Whiskey and wine had soon doused the initial awkward conversation and she was now sitting with Lewis on the windowsill of the murky cellar bar, laughing genuinely at his tales of the Oxfordshire force's various capers and predicaments and sharing her own anecdotes. Hathaway had absented himself for a smoke, prior to a threatened round of Jaeger bombs, and she felt relaxed and at ease in the Inspector's company.

"This is a beautiful college, y'know." Robbie changed subject momentarily.

"I wouldn't know!" Ryan snorted, "So far I've only seen the gate and this sweaty old bar!"

"Well, far be it from me to keep you from the goriest sights of Oxford!" Lewis slurred, ever-so-slightly.

'What?!" Ryan raised her voice over the music.

"I mean, 'glorious'." Lewis corrected himself, blinking against the sudden realisation of quite how much he had had to drink on an empty stomach, but still smiling. "Let's go for a stroll."

Ryan's face lit up in that unusual smile of hers. It distracted Robbie slightly and a millisecond of friction passed between them.

"OK." She murmured and they made their way to the door.


	9. Chapter 9

Lewis and Ryan passed Hathaway on the stairs back to ground level. In his marginally more sober state, Hathaway briefly registered the conspiratorial air between them.

"Sir, I've just had a call from DC Roper. He and DI Jackson are with Doctor Hobson over in Abingdon. Turns out the suicide looks very dodgy indeed. In fact, Hobson's fairly certain it's murder. But the most interesting thing is the identity of the victim: it's Thomas Wainwright, senior partner at Wainwrights solicitors…"

"…and Sofia Constantine's boss." Lewis completed Hathaway's sentence for him, suddenly more serious. "Interesting. Does Innocent want us over there?"

"No, Sir. She says, seeing as we are, and I quote, 'acting so selflessly in the good name of the force by attending this tedious charitable event', she's happy for us just to rock up to the post mortem tomorrow morning. Hobson's going to do it."

"Excellent." Lewis relaxed again. "I thought for a second we were going to find ourselves half-cut at a murder scene."

"Thankfully not, Sir."

"Well then, Hathaway, the night is still young…"

"So let's drink ourselves to oblivion?"

Lewis looked at Ryan, clearly teetering between sense and the giddy flow of alcohol in his bloodstream.

"Why not?" She laughed.

* * *

Hathaway excused himself to the gentleman's room, and Lewis and Ryan headed up through the courtyard, into the main quad, and out onto the vast expanse of lawn beyond. The dusk was falling, and the riotous scent of summer flowers hung heavily in the air. The on-setting night was heady and thick with warmth.

A sign pointed them in the direction of the 'Lakeside Bar', from where bluesy music was drifting languidly towards them.

"This way," Gestured Lewis. "Trust me, this place'll put your Cambridge colleges to shame."

* * *

Back outside the gents', Hathaway was doing his darnedest to put Laura off joining the party:

'It's rubbish. Don't bother. See you tomorrow for the PM.' He sent her another dissuasive text.

Hathaway thought a lot of Hobson and, along with the rest of the station, had even placed wagers on the likelihood that she and Lewis would finally give in to the simmering tension and blatant affection between them. At one stage, he had stood to win big money. But lately it looked as if the pair were doomed to carry on their little will-they-won't-they routine ad infinitum. Most people had lost interest in that particular strand of gossip, preferring instead the more salacious, sex-crazed scandals that blighted some of the other departments. Yet Hathaway, partly because deep down he was a closet romantic, and partly because in secret he worshipped his boss, had always held out hope for Lewis finding some element of happiness again.

He wouldn't have trusted many women to be up to scratch, but Hobson was different. She and Lewis had this weird sort of understanding. Clearly Laura was in love with him: it seemed to Hathaway she'd given up even trying to hide it. She was patient beyond belief: cantankerous and downright belligerent as Lewis could be. In Hathaway's mind, this deserved recognition, not to mention gratitude: let's face it, Hobson was rather easy on the eye and, in securing her affection, Lewis was definitely batting above his average. Yet Lewis was a law unto himself: unfathomable. Sometimes Hathaway would catch him looking at Laura as though he'd never seen a woman before, the air between them tense with almost palpable longing. But, equally, he could be a right old git towards her… take tonight's behaviour for instance.

Hathaway's phone vibrated, interrupting his train of thought. It was a text from Laura:

'Thanks for the glowing review. Too late – am on my way. Tell Robbie to get the drinks in.'

"Oh good." Remarked Hathaway out loud and with a generous helping of sarcasm.

He sighed. Ultimately, there was only so much a sergeant could do. If Lewis wanted to press self-destruct, then so be it. Hathaway would at least ensure that he got a good view of the proceedings.


	10. Chapter 10

The lake was indeed breath-taking: the light from the lanterns, slung low in the overhanging trees, danced lazily on the surface of the water. The unhurried music was intoxicating and, together with the smoke rising from two hog roasts, this lent the atmosphere an almost ethereal air.

"See what I mean?" Lewis grinned lopsidedly at Ryan.

She smiled back in acknowledgement, the infinitesimal breeze catching in her short hair, sending a sudden rush of goose bumps down her spine.

"You're surprising, Lewis." She murmured, thoughtfully, before someone in the distance caught her eye.

* * *

Hathaway had by now met up with Laura at the college gate. He wolf-whistled indulgently as she gave him a little twirl in her, frankly stunning, gown.

"You scrub up well, Hobson." Hathaway admitted as they made their way to the bar.

Laura raised her forearm to her nose. "Shame about the slight smell of corpse, though, eh? I didn't have time to shower properly."

Hathaway laughed. "Eau de rigor mortis, is that what they call it?"

Laura giggled. "Something like that. Where's Robbie?" She asked.

Hathaway tried to stop his face from falling. "Er…" he stalled, "I'm not sure, actually."

"Oh." Breezed Laura, "Well, I'm sure we'll find him somewhere. First, let's get a drink. I'm gasping!"

Hathaway nodded in sincere agreement and directed Hobson towards the cellar bar.

* * *

"What's up?" Lewis followed Ryan's agitated gaze into the lakeside crowd. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Oh, nothing." Ryan's voice caught in her throat.

"Clearly!" Lewis retorted, sarcastically, acknowledging the tension she felt in her jaw and the pit of her stomach.

"Lewis…?" her voice trailed off.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something inexcusably unprofessional?"

"Er…depends what you mean." Lewis hesitated.

"Will you dance with me?"

"Sure." Lewis was thoroughly intrigued. "Now?"

Ryan didn't answer. Instead, she pulled him forcefully into the middle of the crowd of people swaying drunkenly to the music.

Before he could object, she manoeuvred the elegant contours of her body towards him and, in his tipsy state, he felt the exaggerated force of her proximity. Her lithe arms slithered up around his neck and the smell of her hair hit is nostrils as she aligned her temple with his chin.

For the briefest of moments Lewis' arms hung redundantly at his sides, whilst he evaluated the situation in which he found himself. However, almost involuntarily, his hands soon found their way to Ryan's waist. He closed his eyes to steady himself against the touch and feel of another human being, so close after all this time.

"I can see how this might be regarded as not entirely professional." Lewis murmured somewhere into Ryan's hair, once he had recovered himself.

She laughed breathily into his shoulder. "I know. I'll explain… later. Thank you for this, Lewis."

"It's OK." Came Lewis' bemused, but far from displeased reply.

* * *

Author's note: sincerest apologies. All semblance of story line seems to have left the building. Temporarily, I hope!


	11. Chapter 11

Conversation between Hobson and Hathaway began to ebb. She drained the dregs of her second glass of wine and replaced it on the table.

"Another?" Suggested Hathaway.

"Nah. Best not. I've got that PM first thing tomorrow."

"Right."

"Are both you and Robbie coming?"

"Yeah, I believe so." Hathaway nodded, soberly.

"Where is Robbie, anyhow? I still haven't seen him."

"No idea." Hathaway lied, having seen his boss heading towards the lake with Ryan a little while ago, her arm threaded through his.

"Oh, I know where he'll be." Laura's face brightened with sudden realisation. "Down by the lake. He loves the Wolvern College Lake. We come down here occasionally on our lunch breaks."

"Do you?" Hathaway mumbled, awkwardly.

"Yes." Laura toppled delicately off her bar stool. "You coming?"

"I think I'll stay put."

"Oh, don't be such a grump, James. Come on, it's lovely down by the lake. I promise."

Hathaway felt increasingly uneasy as they left the bar. He felt confident he hadn't misread the cosy vibe between Lewis and Ryan earlier and, whilst he would admit to being slightly curious as to the outcome of this new attachment, he had no interest in accompanying Laura into what could potentially be a very awkward situation. He paused as they crossed the quad:

"Hobson, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Erm... you can, but I might not answer it!"

"What's the deal between you and Lewis?" Hathaway cut straight to the point.

Laura laughed airily through her nose. She was caught off guard by the question, but felt her stomach twist pleasantly at the mention of Robbie's name in this particular context.

"Um..."

"It's OK, Hobson, I don't need details - and you can tell me it's none of my business, because it is, in fact, **_none _**of my business - but, for a number of reasons, I find myself wondering what the state of play is between you two."

"What reasons?" Laura asked, hesitantly. This was a very odd conversation to be having with Lewis' sergeant. Hathaway must have had more to drink than she thought.

"That's not important." Hathaway attempted to divert her. "Just give me a vague idea: is it on or off between you?"

"You're right James, it is none of your business!" Laura scoffed.

Hathaway tried a different tack. "But he has told you he likes you?"

"Don't pretend you're interviewing a suspect, James. Your diversion tactics won't work on me."

"Oh come on, Hobson, you can tell me - has he told you he likes you?"

Against her better judgement, partly due to the wine and partly out of genuine longing to talk about Robbie to someone who knew him so well, Laura relented:

"Not in so many words, _no_." She dropped her gaze, her cheeks flushing a little.

"Have you told him you like him?"

"Not directly, no."

"Why not?"

"Oh, James, you know why."

"Because he's still not over the death of his wife?" Hathaway's suddenly serious question hung in the air, changing the tone of the conversation.

Laura was slightly taken aback:

"Has he said that to you?" She whispered.

Hathaway dodged the subject:

"But tonight, you buying tickets for him to the ball – was it meant to be some sort of date?"

Laura exhaled a slightly indignant laugh: "No… well, maybe, yes…. Oh I don't know!"

Embarrassment started to trickle down her neck. She had a sudden a vision of herself as the desperate spinster Hathaway seemed to be implying. She fell silent. Hathaway lit a cigarette and took a long, agitated drag before exhaling.

"Look, Hobson, I'm sorry. This really is _none_ of my business." His tone became gentler, less interrogative.

"Hmm." Laura agreed, her pride a little too bruised to manage a sarcastic comeback.

After a moment's contemplation she added, "What exactly are you trying to say, James?"

He looked at her helplessly. "I'm trying to say that…" he wanted to tell her about his suspicions about Lewis and Ryan but bottled it. "…I've had too much to drink. And I am making inappropriate conversation with a lovely, undeserving colleague so I should definitely go home." He stubbed out his cigarette. "Can't interest you in sharing a taxi?"

"We live at opposite ends of town!" Laura retorted, looking at him with slight concern. "Are you OK, Hathaway?"

"I'm fine." He reassured her.

"Lewis been working you too hard again?"

"The man is the **_complete_** bane of my life, yes."

Laura laughed, knowingly.

* * *

**Author's note**: I hope that conversation was believable. I re-wrote it a couple of times. I just think that, although Hathaway is mischievous, I'm not sure he'd want to see Laura get hurt. I see him being someone who can be quite perceptive of others' emotions at times, but a bit ineffectual with his own. Hence why he couldn't quite manage to tell her about Ryan and Lewis. Not sure what you think? Or, for that matter, whether you even care :) Thanks for reading, in any event.


	12. Chapter 12

Laura reached the lakeside bar, where quite a crowd had gathered under the trees, undulating over the open-air dance floor in time with the gentle lilt of the jazz music.

She scanned the crowd for signs of Robbie but, failing to spot him, she felt suddenly hungry after a night of unexpected work. The smell of the hog roast drifted invitingly on the breeze. She joined the queue.

Coincidentally, a former SOCO colleague, who had relocated to the Met some years ago, stood just in front of her. Laura greeted her and they indulged in a little inane chitchat about ball gowns and the weather. Next to her former colleague stood a tall, serious-looking man, whom her colleague introduced to Laura as Chief Inspector Peter Ross from the Met, before excusing herself to head to the ladies'.

"Nice to meet you." Ross said somewhat absently. He had a slightly drawn expression, but his eyes were warm and expressive. He was focusing his attention on the dance floor, seeming strangely transfixed by something or someone.

Intrigued, Laura turned to follow his gaze over her shoulder.

"Sorry, I'm being rude." Ross smiled, returning his attention to Laura: he had that confident-verging-on-dismissive air of a man of authority.

"What's caught your interest?" Laura looked up at him, unfazed by his apparent disinterest in talking to her.

"Oh, just someone…" he sighed, rolling his eyes and smiling at an obviously private reminiscence, "… someone I used to know."

"That kind of 'someone', eh?" Laura said perceptively.

Ross laughed, acknowledging the insight. He plunged his hands into his pockets, giving him more of a boyish air.

"Was it a bad break up?" Laura was emboldened by the wine.

"You could say that, yes." Ross shook his head, smiling wistfully into the crowd. "What did you say your name was?"

"Hobson. Dr Laura Hobson." Laura smirked. He'll have forgotten it in five minutes, she thought. She'd met plenty of men like Ross.

"Well, Hobson, how about we forget about hog roast and you let me buy you a drink?"

* * *

At the bar, Ross ordered wine without enquiring as to Laura's preference. Behind them, the music changed, becoming more up-tempo as an excited whoop went up from the crowd. They moved towards a set of benches by the dance-floor to get a better view

Once more, Ross' gaze became fixed on a specific point on the dance floor.

"Sorry. I'm not very good company." He mused.

"It's OK. I appear to have been stood up, so right now you are the only company I've got." Laura scoffed, taking a large glug of wine.

"You were here on a date?"

Laura laughed. People were certainly taking a keen interest in her love life this evening. "Sort of."

"Silly man."

"So where is she, this ex of yours?" Laura focused her own eyes on the crowd, suspecting she'd find her if she followed Ross' stare.

Her heartbeat faltered as her eyes stumbled across Robbie and Ryan. She swallowed hard. She watched as Ryan sidled up to Robbie in time with the music: they were laughing, touching. Robbie was looking at Ryan strangely, face plastered with a rare lop-sided grin. Her hands were all over him.

In the split second before a tidal wave of emotion struck, Laura contemplated how happy Robbie looked, how carefree. She hadn't known he liked to dance.

Then, as the ground seemed to lurch upwards towards her and her lungs felt devoid of air, she just wanted an escape. "I'm sorry… I have to go." She blurted to a bemused-looking Ross, before fleeing unsteadily back across the lawn.

* * *

Laura's head pounded, as she clenched her teeth against the ringing in her ears. She was vaguely aware that she was crying, but she didn't care. At least she had made it out of the college gate first. She stalked across Gloucester Green to the taxi rank, hands shaking as she fumbled for her purse.

She just about managed to mutter her address to the driver, before slumping down on the back seat. Her cheeks were red with searing heat. God, she felt **_such_** a fool.

She clattered into her hallway, stumbling as her heel caught in the skirt of her dress. Then the tears came in earnest and sobs rose uncontrollably in her throat. She sat on the stairs and cried from the bottom of her heart; hot, angry tears spilling on the green crepe of her dress. She cried for her hurt pride, the injustice of it, the feeling of rejection, but most of all for the sudden and unexpected loss of something she had held so dear.

* * *

Back on Beaumont Street and oblivious to Laura's misery, Lewis and Ryan were laughing together in the dimmed light of the residents' bar of Ryan's hotel. 'That was quite a performance!" Robbie recollected, swirling the whiskey in the tumbler in his hand.

Ryan spluttered on a mouthful of spirit, "It was!" Her Northern Irish accent was becoming more pronounced with the onset of tiredness, but her smile was still wide.

Lewis looked at her intently, "I had a good time tonight, Ryan." He smiled.

"Well, it's not over yet!" She winked, exaggeratedly, setting down her empty whiskey tumbler before heading back to the bar.

She returned momentarily: "They've stopped serving!" She exclaimed, indignantly.

Lewis tried in vain to focus on his watch. "Probably for the best. Some of us have got a PM first thing tomorrow, remember? I've drunk far too much already."

"You English have no idea how to drink **_properly_**." Ryan shook her head.

Of course, this was a red rag to a bull as far as Lewis is concerned. "I could drink you under the table any day of the week, Ryan. It's not my fault if the hotel bar has shut."

"I've got a bottle upstairs." She challenged him. "Or have you got another sad excuse?"

"I'm too old for this?" Lewis ventured.

"Pull the other one, Lewis. Don't forget, I've seen you on the dance floor."

It had been a long time since Lewis had done something even vaguely irresponsible and the way he felt tonight reminded him somehow of his youth in Newcastle. He felt buoyant and strangely alive, as though the weight of his memories had temporarily lifted. Gone was the dogged sense of duty: for the first time in a long time, he felt free.

* * *

Lewis was woken by the sound of voices. He came to and immediately wished he hadn't: a searing pain shot down his neck as he struggled upwards.

It took him a moment to get his bearings. A television was on somewhere. These pale green walls were certainly not his. Nor was the enormous armchair in which he had been swallowed, or the coffee table upon which his feet were resting. He squinted against the sunlight that was battering his retina from the vantage of large, ornate window. His vision was decidedly hazy from lack of sleep.

"Morning." Ryan stuck her head around the door.

He looked at her blankly before a torrent of recollection hit him like books falling from a shelf. He was in Ryan's hotel suite. A half-empty bottle of whiskey stood accusingly on the coffee table in front of him.

"I'm glad you're awake. We need to be at Hobson's PM soon."

Lewis blinked, sleepily, feeling a whole spectrum of emotions as he heard Laura's name.

"What time is it?" He murmured, hoarsely.

"Just after 8. Help yourself to the shower. I'm going downstairs to see if I can grab a bit of breakfast." Ryan neither sounded nor looked like someone who had been drinking heavily into the small hours, Lewis noticed enviably.

"OK."

"You're welcome to join me?"

"Hmph." Was all Lewis could manage, such was the excruciating stiffness of his back as he tried to sit up.

Ryan laughed. "Told you - you English just cannot handle your drink."

* * *

**Author's note**: thank you for the reviews! It's so nice to know that some of you are enjoying my inept and inane Lewis-related ramblings. I'm making this up as I go along, with various endings in mind, so it's also fun to hear what you think might happen. I'm amused to hear some of you are cross with Lewis - I'm a bit cross with him too to be honest - but we shall see how things pan out.


	13. Chapter 13

Lewis hobbled across Gloucester Green to the taxi rank, hoping to make it home to change and then back to the station in time for the post mortem on Thomas Wainwright. He could just about manage it if he was quick.

"Oh hell!" He grumbled as his haste in pulling his wallet from his trouser pocket sent loose change skittering over the pavement. His head was thumping and his desiccated tongue stuck clumsily to the roof of his mouth as he bent down to recover the renegade coins.

"Good morning, Sir!" The voice was unmistakable.

Lewis straightened, his vision swimming slightly, bringing him face-to-face with his quizzical-looking sergeant.

"Morning, James." Lewis said, incredulously. What was Hathaway doing here? The gods were clearly having a laugh.

Hathaway looked his slightly dishevelled boss up and down deliberately, taking in the tuxedo and general unkempt appearance with an expression that could only be described as glee.

Lewis carried on walking, keen to avoid the inevitable grilling.

"What brings you here on such a fine summer's morn?" Hathaway trilled, quickening his step to keep up.

"I could ask you much the same thing. Hathaway."

"Indeed, Sir." Agreed Hathaway, who having evident fun. "And I would tell you that, owing to my slightly inebriated state last night, I left my mobile in the kebab shop opposite whilst waiting for a cab." He gestured across the green to illustrate his point. "Fortunately, the kind and upstanding owner of said fast food establishment was in a position to store it safely overnight, ready for collection this morning."

"Mmm." Lewis grunted, heading towards the taxi rank.

"And now, you will note that I am on my way to the station," Hathaway paused for dramatic effect, "clean-shaven, washed and dressed in my usual work attire."

Hathaway finally drew level with Lewis, still talking, "Whereas, I can't help but notice, Sir, that you appear to be some distance from home and are still dressed in last night's dinner suit."

Lewis, ignoring Hathaway completely, reached the taxi rank, which was devoid of a single vehicle.

"Damn!" He grumbled.

He turned reluctantly towards his sergeant, fixing him with a yes-Hathaway-this-is-all-very-amusing glare.

"Would it assist you to know that I am parked round the corner, Sir?" Hathaway's nostrils flared with sheer delight at the situation.

Lewis sighed, defeated. "Yes, James, it would."

Hathaway bowed slightly in acknowledgement before looking at his phone. "I'd say we have just enough time to spare you any blushes at the station."

"Thank you, James." Lewis muttered, reluctantly.

Hathaway winked. "You can always count on my discretion, Sir."

* * *

The short journey back to Lewis' flat proceeded mainly in silence, until Lewis could bear it no longer.

"Hathaway, man, I can hear your brain clunking."

"Sorry, Sir?" Hathaway feigned interest on the road.

"It's not what you think."

"I'm not following, Sir." Hathaway was thoroughly enjoying seeing his boss squirm.

Lewis rolled his eyes. "This isn't the 'walk of shame', if that's what you're thinking."

"We're driving, Sir, not walking."

"Yes, ha, ha – very funny. You know what I mean."

"Sir, it is no business of mine what sort of walk, or drive, you choose to do of a sunny, summer's morning."

"Oh, for pity's sake, Hathaway!" The car pulled into Lewis' drive and Lewis scrambled out of the passenger seat, slamming the door violently behind him.

* * *

Inside his flat, Lewis ran the tap hard, before glugging down a glass of cold, metallic-tasting water. Heading for his bathroom, he rummaged in a cabinet for painkillers before hurriedly scraping a toothbrush over his teeth and splashing water over his face. He really could do with shaving, but he didn't have time.

In his room, the cellophane from the dry cleaners' job on his dinner jacket still lay strewn on his bed. He stooped to pick up the dry cleaning ticket from the floor, noting with a smile Laura's scrawled handwriting across the back:

_'Robert Lewis, I am not a slave. Next time pick up your own dry cleaning. L x'_

He laughed ruefully. He'd been cross that she'd been called out to work last night, even though he knew full well it wasn't her fault. He'd been looking forward to spending some time with her; they'd both been so busy lately. It had been odd that she hadn't shown up later, or at least called him to explain her absence: so unlike her. He figured she must have been held up with work. Later on he'd called her twice and been put straight through to voicemail… and after that his memory became a bit hazy. Fortunately, he knew nothing dreadful had happened to her as he had been copied into an email from her to Hathaway this morning about the Constantine case.

Still, in her absence, it had been an interesting evening. Ryan was certainly engaging company: he found her strangely intriguing, all no-nonsense-macho on the outside, but clearly a psychologist's field day underneath. These high-powered people, Lewis mused, were never quite what they seemed. He liked Ryan, though, secretly so self-effacing and acerbic as she was. They had a surprising amount in common: last night they'd shared countless stories. She'd told him about her estranged son and Lewis recognised in her a heartache, a love once lost. And so they'd found a resonance, a form of unspoken understanding.

Yet Ryan somehow seemed ahead of him on the path to redemption and healing. She seemed to have it all worked out. In his inebriated state, Lewis had found himself so eager, so desperate, to tap into her secret, that he'd latched onto her, stumbling to keep up. She'd made him laugh with her antics on the dance floor, sultry and seductive one minute, girlish and giggly the next. Robbie hadn't danced like that in years, not since Val, his wife, had been killed, but last night as he'd stumbled out with Ryan onto the dance floor, he'd physically felt his chest loosen and his shoulders lighten.

The music had pulsed through him. Ryan was vibrant and beautiful, buoyed by the whiskey and wine, as well as the thrill of seeing her ex-lover in the crowds surrounding the dance floor. She'd told Lewis all about him, this DCI Ross as he now was (having been promoted in the Met), and Lewis was more than happy to indulge her in her public act of defiance, dancing provocatively beside him. He'd watched with amusement as Ryan had kept a close eye on Ross in the crowds. Clearly there was unfinished business here. Whether she'd succeeded in making Ross jealous or regretful was unclear, but Lewis had had fun helping her try. He'd found himself almost bewitched by Ryan and her attitude to life. Bewitched by the hope she caused to resurface in him after all these years: the hope that he might one day be happy again.

Despite his hangover, a warmth spread in Lewis' chest as he recalled the high of last night: the vision of himself as someone different; or merely a return to what he once was. He vividly recollected looking upwards into the trees, inhaling the warm, almost dreamlike air deep into his lungs and, despite feeling a strange sort of attraction towards Ryan, deeply longing to speak to Laura. To tell her how he felt right at that moment.

But later the bubble had suddenly burst. Whilst fumbling in her bag for her room key, Ryan's purse had fallen open on the floor, clearly displaying a dated picture of a small boy. "Is this him, your son?" Robbie had asked as he picked it up for her and, in that split second, he saw the despair in Ryan's eyes, age-old, but as raw as if her loss had happened just yesterday. Suddenly it all became clear: there was no magic elixir. Ryan was just as sad and lonely as he was. She was just better at hiding it.

Back in his own bedroom, Robbie was jolted from his reverie by a sudden, overwhelming desire to see Laura. He changed out of his dinner suit quickly and tucked the dry cleaners' ticket into the breast pocket of his work suit, before heading out to the car.

* * *

"Hathaway?"

In the driver's seat next to Lewis, Hathaway was erring on the wrong side of the speed limit in his attempt to avoid being late for the post mortem.

"Yes?"

"I just want you to know that, despite what I appreciate must seem like overwhelming evidence to the contrary, nothing happened between Ryan and me last night... just for the record."

Hathaway glanced sideways at his boss, surprised by this sudden outburst of candour.

"OK." He said simply, knowing that now was not the time for sarcasm.

"I'll fill you in another time, but…" Lewis hesitated, cursing himself for having put himself in a position that required him to say this, "I would very much appreciate it if you didn't mention this morning to anyone."

"Of course not." Hathaway was unable to hide his umbrage that Lewis felt he even had to ask this.

"I'm sorry, I know you wouldn't." Lewis backtracked. "It's just there's one person in particular I would really like to avoid hearing about this."

Hathaway nodded, knowingly.

"I won't breathe a word to Hobson, Sir." Hathaway smiled inwardly, pleased that his boss hadn't had the personality change he'd feared upon seeing him this morning. "… or anyone else. You have my word."

Lewis relaxed. "Thank you, James."

However, there was one thing that still puzzled Hathaway. There was a moment of silence before he ventured:

"Speaking of Hobson, did she manage to find you last night?"

"Laura? She never turned up." Lewis replied, absently.

"She did."

"When? I didn't see her."

"About 10pm? She and I had a drink in the bar, then she headed out to the lake to find you…"

"She did?" Lewis' stomach started to churn and he knew it wasn't down to the hangover. He experienced a vivid recollection of Ryan on the dance floor, twisting and twirling herself against him, and of himself not exactly objecting. "I didn't see her. I tried to call her later on, but…"

"Well, perhaps she couldn't find you and decided to go home."

"Odd that she didn't try to phone though…" Lewis pondered aloud.

"Mmm." Hathaway's response was non-committal. "Not to worry – I'm sure she'll explain. Did you get her email this morning about bringing the hard copy of the Constantine report with us to the PM?"

"Yes, I saw that."

"I'll swing by the office to pick it up en route. You head straight to the PM."

* * *

Hathaway sprinted lankily down the corridor, almost colliding headlong with DC Curtis, who began to berate him for almost spilling his coffee.

"Sorry." Hathaway apologised, breathily, barely pausing in his stride.

Curtis followed Hathaway, taking a furtive glance around the office which Lewis and Hathaway shared before asking, "'ere, 'Athaway, where's the guvnor?"

"On his way to a post mortem, for which I am almost late." Hathaway muttered irritably whilst ransacking Lewis' desk for the Constantine report.

"A mate of mine from the Met was at that charity ball thing last night." Curtis continued, with his customary tone of a self-satisfied gossip.

"Oh?" Hathaway said dismissively before he realised where the conversation might be heading. How the hell did Curtis have such an army of spies?

'Yeah." Curtis guffawed, sleazily. "Saw the your guvnor on the dance floor with Professor Ryan. Getting…" He licked his lips lasciviously, "down and dirty."

"Really." Hathaway feigned disinterest, knowing that this was the best way to handle Curtis, the little lech.

"Tenner says he banged her."

To Hathaway, this particular line of slander seemed to require nipping in the bud.

"Curtis." Hathaway shut the office door quietly before speaking coolly into the constable's ear. "If I so much as hear you _breathe_ a word about this disgusting fantasy of yours to anyone, I will personally take great pleasure in marching you straight to Innocent's office and telling her about the time I caught you round the back of the Turf with a key witness."

Curtis was unsure of Hathaway's tone, but couldn't resist temptation:

"So that means he did bang her then?"

Hathaway gritted his teeth against the overwhelming urge to hurt the constable. His tone became threatening: "No, Curtis, it certainly does not. What it means is that I am Lewis' sergeant and we have a working relationship founded on mutual respect, something of which I expect you have zero experience. Put simply, I don't like it when people insult my boss and, if you continue to do so, there will be consequences." Hathaway sneered. "Are we understood?"

Curtis swallowed before nodding somewhat meekly. "Yes, 'Athaway."

"Good. Now f*** off!"

* * *

**Author's note**: sorry about the swearing at the end. I just had a very angry Hathaway in mind. I know he's so articulate that he doesn't need to swear, but sometimes I think that, even for the most eloquent people, only an f-word will do.

Let me know what you think about the chapter. Too disjointed, perhaps? I just had a lot of little things whizzing around in my head and I wanted to get them all down. Also have a feeling it might be tooooo long and therefore boring?

Thank you for the reviews! I love reading what you think the characters might think or do. Fanfic is ace! :)


	14. Chapter 14

Laura stared at herself in the mirror of the pathology department toilets. The light was harsh and artificial. Up close, she could see that her eyelids still bore the tell tale signs of last night's tears, slightly red and puffy. Her face appeared sallow and washed-out. God, I look old, she mused. Absently, she rubbed at the loose skin underneath her chin, feeling it gather in folds under her fingers.

She regarded her reflection intently, willing time to stop so that she didn't have to give this damn post-mortem in front of Ryan and Robbie. Mercifully, she felt fairly numb, or at worst just a bit bruised round the edges. It was one of those days where she just existed, not really sure if she was breathing. Not really caring either. She knew she'd get through the PM, she had sufficient professional pride not to let her personal life impinge, but she really didn't _want_ to. In the distant place where she had temporarily stored her emotions, she felt it was unfair.

The door squealed open and Laura's gaze met Ryan's in the mirror. Ryan's cheeks coloured ever-so-slightly and she immediately broke eye contact. Laura forced up the edges of her mouth in greeting.

"Morning."

Ryan smiled, recovering herself: "Good morning, Laura."

"How was the ball?" Laura heard herself asking, not really sure why.

"Good." At least Ryan had the decency to look sort of sheepish, Laura thought to herself.

"You didn't make it?" Ryan added, making her way towards a cubicle.

Laura hesitated. "Oh yes, I just came along a little later." Laura began washing her hands unnecessarily for a second time, just for the distraction.

"Oh?" Ryan tilted her head to one side. "We didn't see you."

"No." From the distance of her numbness, Laura noted that her tone was almost rude, yet she struggled to care, right at this moment.

"Robbie, I mean, Inspector Lewis tried to call you." Ooh, now that registered with Laura – an emotion at last - a pain deep in her chest as Ryan used Lewis' first name.

"He did?" Laura sounded surprised, but in fact vividly recalled hurling her phone down the stairs last night, as Lewis' caller ID had flared up repeatedly on the screen.

"Yes, a couple of times, I believe."

"My phone must have been switched off." Laura lied, deadpan. She finished drying her hands on a paper towel, before stomping down on the bin pedal to dispose of it. She'd made the requisite polite conversation, now she just wanted a speedy exit:

"Anyway, I'd best go. Wouldn't want to be late for the PM, would I?"

Ryan sniffed as the door swung shut. Whilst she had not exactly enjoyed the awkwardness of the conversation, she found herself quite amused by it. It was almost as if Hobson knew that she and Lewis had been flirting outrageously last night. Not that it had come to anything - somewhat to Ryan's disappointment. Yes, Hobson was definitely behaving oddly.

Of course, Ryan had heard all about the epic Lewis/Hobson 'almost' love story: the great Thames Valley force romance that never was. Innocent had filled her in and Ryan herself had been witness to the air of stagnant ardour between the pair. For Ryan, the biggest irony about last night was that, in suggesting Lewis as an escort to the ball, Jean Innocent had specifically selected him as a safe pair of hands. 'Secretly in love with Laura, you see', had been Innocent's exact words, 'just too ineffectual to do anything about it.' Ryan had therefore started the evening with a bit of harmless flirtation. However, following the exchange of a few drunken home truths with Lewis, she had surprised herself in wanting more. She'd misjudged him: in fact he made a more than worthy, not to mention charming, adversary.

Ryan straightened her collar in the mirror. It was unfortunate that she may have ruffled Hobson's feathers by her behaviour last night. She had by now seen enough of Hobson's work to respect her and, in other circumstances, she felt they would have made a good team. However, the dynamic surrounding Lewis was complicating things. It was a long time since Ryan had met a man with whom she felt a connection. Ultimately, Ryan was a woman who got what she wanted. She wasn't finished with Lewis yet.

* * *

Looking back on Thomas Wainwright's post-mortem, Hathaway was astounded that it had actually made it from start to finish. Even now he wasn't sure how Hobson had managed to pull it off. The tension in the air was murderous, if you'd pardon the pun.

He'd clattered into the lab at the very last minute, clutching the Constantine report, and throwing Hobson an apologetic grimace for his lateness. At that point, there was no indication that something was awry: Lewis and Ryan were assembled and listening carefully. Hobson, all credit to her, was conducting the PM as normal, noting that Wainwright had been garrotted before being made to look like he had hanged himself using his Hermès tie.

Hathaway couldn't read Lewis' expression: ever the professional, he appeared to be focusing intently on what Hobson was saying. Ryan, on the other hand, looked stiff as a poker, quite different from her demeanour last night. Yet Hathaway suspected this was probably part of the grand professorial persona, rather than any sort of unease with the social situation. He relaxed slightly. Perhaps Lewis would emerge unscathed from his temporary lapse of judgement after all.

However, it was when Hobson came to mention what was found in Wainwright's body that things in the lab started to heat up:

"In his stomach is a gold signet ring, inscribed with two words in what looks like Russian." Laura extracted the ring before using a visualising camera to display a magnified image on screen for the others' benefit:

The words read: 'Завинаги твоя'.

"That's not Russian." Hathaway interjected. Ryan raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed, whereas Lewis and Laura barely batted an eyelid, so accustomed were they by now to Hathaway's intellectual prowess.

"What is it then, James?" Asked Lewis.

"Well it's definitely the Cyrillic alphabet… so I'd say some sort of Slavic language?"

"Can you get someone onto it?" Lewis suggested and Hathaway nodded, taking a photo of the image on the screen with his phone before firing off an email.

"So did he swallow it voluntarily, Laura?" Lewis asked. Hobson didn't look up.

"Nope. Mouth and throat are scratched, like it was forced on him."

"So someone is trying to say something with this ring?" Lewis pondered.

Hathaway's phone pinged with an email response to his question.

"That was quick! The wonders of modern technology." Lewis remarked to Ryan, who smiled at him indulgently.

"Translations team say the inscription says zavinagi tvoya." Hathaway pronounced the words with some difficulty. "According to them, it's Bulgarian, Sir, meaning 'forever yours'."

"Bulgarian? But I thought when you interviewed Wainwright he said his family were British aristocracy. What's with the Bulgarian connection?"

"A mistress?" Ventured Ryan. Hathaway briefly wondered if her tone verged slightly on the suggestive, but he decided he was probably imagining it.

"Or a love child?" Conjectured Lewis.

Ryan and Lewis continued to bandy some ideas around to the exclusion of Hobson and Hathaway.

"The connection is Sofia." Hobson interrupted, blankly. "Sofia, as in the capital of Bulgaria; and Sofia, as in Sofia Constantine, the first murder victim." Hathaway nodded in agreement, the same thought having been on the tip of his tongue.

"Not that it's my job to speculate," continued Laura, "but if you ask me I'd say it's a message between lovers," Laura's tongue faltered on the last word slightly, "which no one else was meant to understand." She looked at Lewis.

"So you think Wainwright and Constantine were 'at it' in secret?" Lewis' attention was suddenly firmly on Laura.

Discomfort flashed almost imperceptibly across Laura's face as, for the first time that morning, she met Lewis' gaze. "Perhaps." She shrugged. Her eyes flickered for a split second, but purposefully between Lewis and Ryan. "Just a theory, of course."

"Do we have anything to suggest Wainwright and Constantine were having an affair?" Lewis asked Hathaway.

"Not to my knowledge Sir, but it wasn't an active line of enquiry when he was interviewed. It's definitely a possibility."

"After all... people let down those they love all the time." Hobson's gaze at Lewis was practically caustic, but her face remained completely expressionless. "Why not Wainwright and Constantine?" She added, almost as an afterthought.

It was then that Hathaway noticed Lewis' face fall, as something seemed to click. He appeared to forget momentarily about the case. Hathaway saw him look at Hobson, at first with puzzlement, and then his face coloured. The realisation was dawning: Hobson knew about last night. A glance over at Ryan's expression suggested she too understood exactly what was going on.

Hobson held Lewis' stare determinedly and suddenly the PM stopped being so much about the lifeless corpse on the slab in front of them and more about the bizarre love triangle in the room. The atmosphere zinged with tension.

"Well, it certainly would give Wainwright's wife a motive." Lewis attempted to bluster through the sudden and cataclysmic friction in the air, looking resolutely at his shoes.

"Because hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?" Ryan's voice was cool, but laced with sarcasm, as she levelled her eyes at Hobson.

In a parallel universe, Hathaway was devouring every second of this fascinating and unexpected display of female rivalry. Yet, back on planet earth, he was sincerely struck by the look of abject bewilderment on Lewis' face. He needed to stop this.

"And 'heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned'. Ah, ha, ha, ha!" interjected Hathaway awkwardly, completing the literary analysis with false laughter. "Got to love a bit of Congreve! So where were we… Bulgaria, wasn't it?"

For the briefest of moments, his question appeared to go unanswered: Lewis was regarding Hobson beseechingly, evidently trying to communicate with her, but his desperation went unnoticed. Then, with nothing short of monumental professionalism, Hobson recovered her composure and returned almost seamlessly to examining the corpse.

Remarkably, the post-mortem proceeded without further incident and some sense of normality briefly returned. Eventually, Hobson concluded:

"And that, Gentlemen, and Professor Ryan, is all I have to tell you about Mr Wainwright: definitely _not_ a suicide. You'll have my written report by first thing tomorrow."

"Thank you, Laura." Lewis tried, but failed, to make eye contact.

"Any questions?" Hobson asked no one in particular.

Silence.

"Right, in that case, I'll scrub out and get on."

"Laura…" Lewis rose from his seat, but it was too late. Hobson had gone.

* * *

**Author's note**: thank you for your reviews. As I said last time, I just love a bit of chit chat about the characters - helps get my brain churning for the next bit of the story. I'm a couple of chapters ahead, but definitely taking the reviews on board - mostly because it allows me to do a bit more Lewis-related day-dreaming than I do already! Thanks for reading :)


	15. Chapter 15

Lewis sat back heavily in his chair, surveying the fresh wreckage of his friendship. Part of him wanted to run straight after Hobson, but the other part queried what he would actually say to her. Questions flooded his mind: how did she know? What had she, or someone else, seen? Yet, ultimately he knew that the answers didn't matter. Any false interpretation, or misunderstanding, on her part was entirely his fault.

Whilst it was clear from Hobson's behaviour that she suspected the worst of him (and, wow, did that hurt), he wasn't blameless. He had behaved recklessly. For all Hobson knew, he could have slept with Ryan; they could have started some sort of ill-conceived romance. Of course, Lewis knew in his heart that he simply couldn't, he just wouldn't, but on the face of last night's proceedings, how was Laura to know any better?

He'd been a fool. He'd made what he was only now coming to understand as a colossal error and he quite simply didn't have the words to explain it to his very best friend; someone for whom he cared so deeply. He ached to run after her, but what would he say? Overwhelmingly he wanted to spare her the indignity of any half-baked excuses or denials. He felt their friendship, and she, deserved more respect than that. His insides seethed with self-loathing as he recalled the look she'd given him during the post-mortem, betraying emotion on a scale she'd never shown him before.

The irony was that that look had told him more in a millisecond than he'd ever really understood before. It spoke of her true feelings, and not the ones she'd been pussy-footing around him with, steeped in pleasantries and drinks together in the pub. Silently, he had heard her tell him that enough was enough: her emotions towards him were finally laid bare. And, deep down beneath the panic he'd felt when she'd looked at him, Lewis had also sensed the desire, in himself and in her. He realised that his actions with Ryan had unwittingly crystallised something within him: he wanted Laura so badly it hurt.

Yet now everything was broken. He'd taken a spectacular fall from grace in Hobson's eyes and he didn't know how to fix it. Suddenly, the walls of the lab appeared to close around him and his breath became shallow. Excusing himself from Ryan and Hathaway, who had entered into a lively debate about the link between the murder victims, he stumbled out into the corridor, tugging at his tie.

Lewis ducked his head, keen to avoid talking to anyone; doubting whether he actually could, so haywire were his thoughts. Mercifully he could remember the way to an old fire escape, disused since the building had been renovated, but, as Laura had often told him, the perfect place to stowaway for a few minutes, when work got too much.

The external door was already ajar when he reached it, pushing against the old iron bar, squinting against the bright onslaught of the morning sunshine, and gasping for air. He stepped hurriedly outside and found himself standing face to face with Hobson.

Startled by the intrusion, she looked up. As she registered his identity, her eyes fell and she tutted with resigned acceptance that of course he would have thought to look for her here. She cursed herself for not venturing somewhere less obvious.

The accidental encounter was wreaking havoc with Lewis, his inner turmoil magnified thousand-fold by her proximity. Unintentionally, he had blocked her exit from the narrow platform of the fire escape. She was trapped.

He floundered around in his subconscious, desperately seeking the words that would communicate the wretchedness he felt.

"Laura…"

She wouldn't even look at him. Her eyes were dry and her lips tight.

"I've been a complete and utter idiot." He tried.

She laughed, briefly and bitterly, at this, her eyes still determinedly fixed on the iron staircase that spiraled beneath their feet to the ground.

'It's OK, Robbie. You don't have to explain." Deep beneath the layers of raw disappointment and hurt, Laura unearthed the image of his elated face last night on the dance floor with Ryan. This helped her not to cry.

"To be honest, Laura, I'm not sure I know how to explain."

Laura pondered this admission: probing the meaning behind it.

"I just want you to know that…" he ventured, but she cut him off:

"Robbie, you don't need to do this. You don't owe me anything. It's not as if we… well, it's not as if there ever was a 'we' to be talking about."

"Wasn't there?"

Laura chose to ignore the utter misery in his voice. "We're friends, Robbie - just colleagues. I have no expectations. What you do is your own business. What you got up to last night has nothing to do with me."

"It wasn't what you think." The cliché was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Laura scoffed, scornfully. "Oh Robbie, spare me the excuses. I thought we knew each other better than that."

She was growing impatient, claustrophobic; eyeing the door back to the inside.

"Laura," for the first time, Robbie's voice wobbled. "I know I've let you down. I just want you to know that…"

"Save it, Robbie." Laura cut him off. "I don't want to hear."

She reached for the door handle at the same moment as he stepped over to block her path. They touched and for the briefest of seconds she considered relenting, so emotion-fuelled was the breath that caught in her throat. She looked up at him, fighting the intense magnetism of his proximity, fired as it was by the depth of her anger towards him and the clattering of her heart against her ribcage.

Yet her wounded pride broke the contact. Let Ryan become his confidante, she thought, bitterly. Let Ryan try to understand him the way that she had. Let Ryan try to make him happy. Laura was suddenly tired of this game.

"I've got to go." She murmured, wearily, before slipping back inside.


End file.
